Chromatics
by NikTaylor42
Summary: A series of short fics going through the color spectrum of Breaking Bad. 150-300 words, K to T rating, Walt POV.
1. Blue

It was beautiful.

Walt had scoffed when Pinkman had said it before – that this was _art_ – but as he gazes at the crystal in his hand, he can't help but agree. It was perfectly formed, perfectly sized, more pure than a snowflake in the stratosphere, and the clearest, bluest blue he'd ever seen. He holds it up to the light and marvels at the way it sparkles, thousands of tiny refracted rays spilling rainbows onto the floor.

Beautiful.

He could almost forget that it was poison, could almost forget that this was something that ruined people's lives, could almost forget all the things he had to do to get here. The blood on his hands. The concern in Sklar's voice, and the pain in her eyes. All was forgotten here, standing under the Albuquerque sky with the product in his hand.

"Mr. White?"

He turns at the voice, and has to revoke his previous statement - the eyes staring back at him were bluer than any crystal could be.

_Beautiful._

"You all right?" Jesse looks concerned, and Walt nods in response, smiling reassuringly.

"I'm fine. Everything's fine."

He puts the piece back down on the table and pulls his mask back on.

"Let's cook."

…~…

Author's Note:

Just in case we have any meteorology nerds in here, yes, I know, snowflakes form in the troposphere. 'Stratosphere' flowed better. And, you gotta admit, sort of enforced the hyperbolic nature of the metaphor – if a snowflake is way up in the stratosphere, it must be purer than pure, right? Or something?

…Hell, I just liked the alliteration. Sue me.


	2. Green

"Let's start with some tough love, all right? Ready for this? Here goes: you two _suck _at peddling meth."

The lawyer sits on the edge of his desk, a smug smile curving his lips. A self-proclaimed 'guy who knows a guy', Saul Goodman is supposedly the one to get them into the big time, whatever that translates to in the world of meth distribution.

But is trusting him really a good idea?

This is the way to achieve his goal, Walter tells himself. To get the money for his family, enough green to drown out any guilt. The end justifies the means, right? Still, as Saul continues, describing this mystery buyer, he can't help but feel apprehensive.

No, not 'apprehensive'. Scared.

But he shoves it down deep, the way he's done from the beginning.

Because he has to do this. He has to get the green.

"Well, what's his name?" he asks.

"I have no idea. He's very low profile. He's careful like that." Saul pauses.

"But from what I do hear about him, he sounds a little like you."

...~...

Author's Note:

So this seems to be turning into Walt POV, instead of the multi-pairing mess I was imagining before. Just as well. This will flow better.

Anyway, hope you like it, and reviews are always welcome.


	3. Yellow

_"I have an offer that I feel may be of interest to you."_

Walt opens the locker door. Stares inside.

_The man gazed at him from across the table. He was thin and bespectacled, his pale mustard-colored shirt crisply ironed and spotless. The picture of cool professionalism...right down to the polite smile and dead eyes._

He pulls out the bright yellow protective suit, unfolds it, shakes it out.

_"Three million dollars, for three months of your time." _

He unzips it.

_"Three months, then out."_

He carefully inserts his left leg, working his shoe through the hole at the bottom, then goes on to the right. Gus's silent henchman watches him from across the room, seemingly without blinking.

_Walt stared out the window, struggling with the decision. "Three million?" he repeated, turning back to Gus. The man's smile widened slightly._

_"May I take that as a yes?" _

He pulls his arms through the sleeves, flips up the hood.

___"I'm sorry, but the answer is still no," Walt replied, watching the other man carefully. Gus stared at him for a moment, then nodded, smile never leaving his face. It gave him chills._

He bends down slightly to grasp the zipper, then pulls up, slowly. It sounds almost final, and in a way, it is.

_"Enjoy your meal."_

He closes his eyes.

_"Thank you," he managed, and as they clasped hands their eyes met and Walt knew. He knew, in that moment, that no matter what he might say, he couldn__'t get out of this._

The zipper finally stops under his chin, the suit completely encasing him. He opens his eyes.

_He belonged to Gus now._

...~...

Author's Note:

I have nothing to say here, other than to point out that these keep getting longer, don't they.


	4. Red

Walt takes one last look at the container, at the shadowy mass floating within. What was a living, breathing human being just hours ago is now a twisted, dissolving hunk of flesh.

_You did this._

He can still hear Victor's choking gasps, still feel the blood spattering his face, still see Gus's cold, black eyes boring into his own. Accusing. Condemning.

_This is your fault._

He can still hear Gale's slightly nasally voice singing softly to himself as they cleaned the equipment, can still smell the Sumatran coffee beans that he roasted every morning before a cook.

_Everything is your fault._

Jesse seems to have gotten over the initial shock by now, but occasionally his face will go blank, his eyes vacant, and Walt has to touch his shoulder or say his name to bring him back. Back from the horror of the past to the horror of the present, where they clean the lab in silence, scrubbing blood from the crimson floor.

Part of him wants to put an arm around Jesse, to apologise somehow. The other part can't stop thinking about what he said before, to Mike, when he thought he was facing death.

_"I'll give you Jesse Pinkman!"_

That was just a ploy to buy time, he thinks. He would never betray Jesse. But the more he tells himself this, the less convincing it seems, and the more scared he becomes. Not just of Gus, or Mike, or the cartel.

He is scared of himself. Of what he is becoming. Of what he has already become. And, most of all, he is scared of the fact that for the most part he doesn't care.

...~...

Author's Note:

I hope the Sumatran beans were accurate, I was too tired to download the episode to check so I used Google instead. If it's something else feel free to stab me with a box cutter.

Anyway, just one more to go!


	5. White

_My name is Walter Hartwell White...I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico..._

"Walt?"

Skylar's voice sounds small and frightened. He can hear the TV in the background, the reporter calmly recounting the events of the bombing.

"How are you doing?" he asks her.

_To all law enforcement entities, this is not an admission of guilt. I am speaking to my family now._

"How am I doing? How are _you_ doing?"

"I'm, uh..." He looks around, as if searching for the answer to her question. He's just poisoned a child, blown up a nursing home, killed three men, and skillfully manipulated his only friend in the process. How does he feel? "I'm doing quite well." He sighs.

"I'm good."

_Skyler, you are the love of my life, I hope you know that. Walter Junior, you're my big man. _

"Jesus, Walt, the news here. Gus Fring is dead. He was blown up along with some person from some...Mexican cartel and the DEA has no idea what to make of it." She hesitates. "Do you know about this?"

Walt doesn't say anything. He keeps staring off at the distance, mind racing.

_There are... there are going to be some things, things that you'll come to learn about me in the next few days. _

"Walt? Are you - "

"It's over," he says. He waits for her to stop, to calm down, to listen for once.

"We're safe."

___I just want you to know that..._

Skylar is silent, except for the occasional deep breath. He can just imagine her face - preparing to say something, struggling with herself, realising, as always, that whatever it is is better left unspoken.

_No matter how it may look..._

But she pushes ahead. Says it anyway.

"Did you do this? What...what happened?"

_I only had you in my heart. _

It hits him suddenly, the gravity of the situation, and he smiles slightly. There's no reason to be scared anymore. No more danger. Despite all of Gus's threats, despite all of his power and influence, he isn't standing here. There is only him. Walter White.

No.

Heisenberg.

_Goodbye._

"I won," he tells her, and hangs up before she can reply. He stares up at the sun, and suddenly laughs.

_I won._

_...~..._

Author's Note:

So I didn't do 'Purple'. It just wouldn't fit. BUT I hope you enjoyed this anyway.

Review please, and check out my other fics! Thanks!


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